My brothers knew
The things you know.
I did not scorn
learning them;
It’s just my mind
Was busy being trained
 
For “Other Things”:
 
Poetry, Philosophy, Literature.
Survival, for a girl.
 
But now,
What a relief
To see you understand
The ways
Of horses
Their shyness
& hatred
Of
Loneliness:
 
That you will not
Hesitate
To rescue
An old horse,
Dying on
 
His feet
&
That you will
Cheerfully
Wash him,
Aged
&
Incontinent
Head
To
Toe. Missing
With your bucket
&
Rag
Not
One
Hidden
Cre vice
As he
Trembles
& weeps.
 
What peace
To see
Raising chickens
Does not
Mystify you
and
Hot water heaters
& their ways
Are well known;
That electricity
& how it
Works
Is something
Within
Your grasp.
 
That you can
Get a car
To run
By poking
It in
A few mysterious
Places
Under
The hood.
 
That you can
Fix a
Broken
Anything: battery, truck, stove,
Door, fridge, lamp, chicken coop hinge
While teaching me
The ins and outs
Of Opera
Or
While singing
Lusty
Italian
Tenor
That
S hakes
The walls.
 
That you can
Sit, comfy,
Unperturbed
By traffic
In the womb—like
Back seat
Of my
Aging
Chariot
While I drive
& you
Ride
The silver
Black
& Golden
Horses
Of
Your
Trumpet.

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